


Aesthetics

by Rose_of_Pollux



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:58:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8371468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_of_Pollux/pseuds/Rose_of_Pollux
Summary: In which Illya really, really hates the beach and Napoleon tries to placate him with pink lemonade.





	

Illya certainly had to grumble as he continued his surveillance of the beach. Why did THRUSH have to be active in a popular, crowded, and uncomfortably hot tourist trap anyway? Why couldn’t they have been active up in Alaska? The Russian shifted in discomfort, trying to think of snow to keep cool as the sun beat down on him. He was grateful for the sunhat that Napoleon had given him last summer during their first year as partners; he was wearing it now again.

A group of young women now pointed and giggled at him as they passed by. Illya gave them the darkest “Please leave me alone” look he could muster, but it didn’t seem to faze them; they did, mercifully, move on when it became clear that he wasn’t going to respond to their flirtations in any other way.

He grumbled some more under his breath and resumed surveillance, almost hoping that a THRUSHie would come by so that he could tail them—and get away from this crowded beach. He hated the sun, he hated the heat, he hated the crowds, he hated the flirts…

“Isn’t this place _great?_ ” Napoleon exclaimed, as he returned from wherever it was he had wandered off to.

Illya slowly turned and gave Napoleon a dark look.

“I _dare_ you to look me in the eyes and say that again.”

Napoleon knew better than to try. Instead, he held out one of the two glasses of a pink drink that was topped with ice.

“Here, I think you could use this.”

“Napoleon, we are on duty!”

“There’s no alcohol in this,” Napoleon promised him, with a grin. “It’s pink lemonade.”

“What.”

“You know—lemonade, but pink?”

“…Why?” Illya asked, staring at the drink.

Napoleon shrugged.

“Why not?”

“Because, surely, there must be a practical reason for it!”

“…Do you consider aesthetics a practical reason?”

“Not especially,” Illya said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, it could be pink or yellow or even bright blue,” Napoleon said. “It’s still a cold drink, and I think you ought to have it. You _are_ more susceptible to heat exhaustion than I am, after all.”

He had a point there, Illya silently conceded. With a shake of his head, he took the glass that Napoleon held out to him, and, after glancing over it once more, he took a sip.

To his surprise, it was a pleasant, sweet flavor, and the coolness of the ice cubes was welcome in the summer heat.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” Napoleon asked.

“Quite good, actually.”

“You seem surprised.”

“I was expecting it to taste as whimsical at it looked,” Illya admitted. “And the coolness does help. Thank you, Napoleon.”

“Great,” Napoleon said, taking a sip from his own lemonade. “If you need another, let me know.”

“I will,” Illya said.

The two of them continued with their surveillance of the beach, and Illya reflected on how, perhaps, beach surveillance wasn’t as bad as he thought.


End file.
